Are You Okay? | Matt Murdock X Reader

Are You Okay? | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to hear is one question and one person to make your shitty day not so shitty anymore.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, fear of failure, not proofread (I put Grammarly over that bitch, but that's it), no y/n

A/n: I wrote this in an hour because I'm stressed as fuck and my state of mind is so complicated right now, I didn't know how else to explain it. Also, why is statistics such a bitch to study? And what do I care about fucking behaviorism? I'm already done with Freud and Piaget and those get on my last nerve already, I don't need Bandura to add to my emotional despair, but oh well, here we are. This is completely self-indulgent and I channeled what's happening in my school life into this one, so if it doesn't fit with the American school system, I'm sorry, but I didn't want to research.

Word Count: 2.7k

You’ve been locked in your room for the majority of the past week, the study notes of the past semester strewn around you, and you swore at the beginning of the week that you would revise every last note at least once. In the end, you panicked more than you studied, but you managed to summarize about half of your notes, which should fill you with glee, but as you stare down at your stack of cards, you’re filled with dread and the purest form of self-hatred. What did you do the entire week that you only got so far? You left your room once, but it was a short walk around the block to air your head, with still many hours of the day left to spare. You swore you would get everything you needed to be done, and you swore to yourself that the next five weeks of exam season were going to be your bitch, but looking at the calendar now you realize, those five weeks still lay ahead of you and you are not even nearly done with everything you swore you would get done. 

Your head screams, “Failure!” And you’re starting to think that maybe your head is right. Maybe you are lazy and that is why your grades have been dropping or your teachers are disappointed or you just can’t seem to get the information into your thick skull even though someone once told you, “You can do it!” You figure that was a lie too. There is no way you can manage to ace all your upcoming tests and the final exams, and part of you is starting to fear you might not be able to graduate. There is too much in your head, too much stress, and too much performance anxiety, but as you look around yourself you don’t realize why you’re so stressed - in your head, it appears as if you spent the entire week playing video games and did the bare minimum, and not even that did you manage. You really don’t understand how you can be stressed and not even halfway done with all of your schoolwork. You’re stressed about being stressed, and you’re stressed about studying so you try to study, but your head blacks out and the day suddenly doesn’t have enough hours for you to think about yourself and the work you have to do, so you just sit back and stare at an empty page in the hopes the words will come out and you can just memorize all of the fucking information on your study notes. You don’t want to be the best, you’ve given up on that, but you want to pass, you need to pass because damn, you want to get out, you want to move on and get out and get on with life, but the load keeps getting bigger and your grades keep swindling. How can the load get bigger when you haven’t left your room in a week, and how did you not manage to finish revising all of your notes even though you definitely had the time and the means? You don’t understand and at this point, you have resorted to watching trash tv to keep your mind from reeling, but even that seems not enough anymore. You can’t eat without upsetting your stomach and the thought of going back to class the next day, having to study more and revise more, and the end moves closer and closer, but never close enough, and the entire pile of documents, anxiety, and stress starts to bury you alive. You can’t remember a second you allowed yourself to properly breathe, to stop your thoughts from racing and focusing on something else. You can’t remember a time you allowed yourself a step away from studying or procrastinating and freeing your head so you can get back to work with newfound energy. All of that seems so… impossible now. You want to pass, but your head keeps telling you that you won’t. You won’t pass. You will fail and everyone will hate you because you will be the only one. You’re scared, you’re terrified even and you can’t do this anymore. You want out of your body, out of your mind, and out of this life just for a second, just until the worst is over and everything has resolved itself. 

You know that’s not possible. 

Your friends are emotionally unavailable, busy with themselves, mostly, and your family is as annoying as ever. No one’s asked about you, most of them have dodged your messages or answered with a clear, “Sorry, we can’t.” It feels as if no one can help you out of this hole you’ve dug for yourself, so you decide to sit in it and wait for the dirt to swallow you. 

Your skin tingles, you’re tired and there is this overwhelming urge to cry. You miss being touched, you miss being taken care of, but there is no time and you just can’t ask. The one person you can ask is across campus and has no idea what’s going on because you told him you’d need the week to study, so he told you he’d leave you alone until then. It’s Sunday now. He hasn’t called or texted and you’re starting to wonder if he’s sick of you as you are of yourself. 

Before the thoughts can turn any darker, and they have gotten significantly darker, there is a knock on your door. You probably smell disgusting, your room is a mess and you should have opened a window, but it’s significantly colder outside today, there is snow and you just hate the way everything but your blanket and the new episodes of America’s Next Top Model make you feel. You’ve driven yourself so far into loneliness, you’re starting to believe that this is actually just who you’re supposed to be. 

You get off the makeshift seating area among your study notes off the floor and walk to the door. You don’t bother checking who’s outside. If it is a murderer, at least you can miss your exams and not feel guilty, and the general heavy pain that drags your soul down to your feet and keeps it there would finally go away. 

Seeing Matt Murdock’s face at your door doesn’t surprise you, you simply step aside and let him in. doesn’t say anything, simply taps his can forward until he can find his way into your room. His nostrils flare, but either he doesn’t smell the bucket of untouched fries and garlic sauce on the counter and how you haven’t showered in four days or he’s being respectful about it. You kind of wish he would just flat-out tell you that you smell and probably look like shit, not that he could judge, but he could probably sense with the way everything feels like a mess around him, that would make your guilt and pain so much worse but at least you could feel something else for a change. You’d be hurt, but it would be a different kind of hurt, one that could distract you from the demons gnawing at your heart. 

“You want a drink?” you ask, your voice hoarse from both the lack and the overuse of sleep as a coping mechanism. 

He stands lost in the room, or maybe he’s waiting, you’re not sure. You get a beer for him from the fridge, but instead of drinking it, he takes it and places it back down on the counter. 

You stare at him, a little confused, and maybe your pride is also a little hurt that he would turn down your nice gesture. 

“Are you okay?”

The question confuses you, at first, and you’re not quite sure how to process it. Those three words sound so foreign, the week you’ve been through suddenly feeling like years without him, and as he’s standing before you now, his question awakening something in you, unscrewing the lid and popping the cork, you realize just how much you have missed him. How you have missed this. How you have missed being acknowledged and asked about, even if it was just a simple, “Are you okay?” 

It finally settles in and the question makes you feel a lot of things at once, but none of them are simple, and none of them you can explain, but you know how they make you feel and they definitely answer his question with something he can feel in the way you tense up. 

You bite your lip. “No,” you admit silently, although it feels wrong to say it because why are you not okay? You should be. You have to be.

But Matt isn’t like that. 

“Do you need a hug?” he asks. 

Fuck him, you think. He’s read you better than you could have read yourself. 

You nod again. “Yes.”

“Okay, c’mere.”

As it turns out, a hug is exactly what you needed and half of the uneasiness you have been feeling must have been a serious case of touch starvation.

He opens his arms and allows you to take the first step, and you do. You step forward to lazily drape your arms around him, but he soon wraps you up tightly in his and squeezes you in the way he knows you need. The physical decompression, his fresh smell, the sound of his heartbeat, and his hands roaming your back open the flood gates, and seconds after you are crying heavily into his chest. You unload all of the stress and all of the anxiety, clinging to him for dear life, but he doesn’t mind. He lets you cry, sob and whimper until you’re too weak to stand and even then he only carries you over to your couch and sits down with you in his lap, still holding you like you are a fragile little thing (which you are, now that you think of it) and he refuses to even think about letting you go. 

He kisses your head. You’re still shaking, but there are no more tears to cry. “Why didn’t you call?” he asks you. 

His voice sounds so soft and it makes you whimper again, wiping your eyes on his already wet shirt. “Why didn’t you call?” you bite back. 

“Because you said you wanted to study. I didn’t want to interrupt you, sweetheart. I know how caught up you get and I wanted to give you space. If I had known-”

You can’t help it. You are safe from the world in his arms so you allow yourself to voice the one thought that has been keeping you on edge, “I’m going to fail, Matty.”

He holds your face away from his, feeling your contorted features and the stress wrinkles on your forehead. “What?” 

You only then realize he took off his glasses and you can see his brown eyes perfectly like that. That only makes you shake harder because he cares so damn much and you never have needed him more than you do now.

“I’m going to fail,” you say again, “because I’m useless and dumb and I can’t get anything right. I can’t even get anything done. I’m such a failure and I am going to fail every goddamn test and I am going to fail my finals and I’m-”

Matt shushes you again by taking you in his arms, and a new wave of tears rattles you. “You are not going to fail,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “You’re not a failure, you’re not dumb and you are not useless. You made it this far. You passed all of your previous classes. You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he says, “so you are not going to fail now.”

“But what if I am?”

“Everything can happen, but you are not going to fail. I know you and that is not what you do.”

“I barely got anything done this week. I swore I’d study, but-”

“How much do you have left?”

You sniffle and look behind you. God, your floor is a mess. “A lot,” you admit. 

“Too much for one day?”

“Probably,” you break off with another sob. He keeps your head upright though. Instead of shushing you, he gets up, kneels on the floor, and touches your study notes. He can’t read them, they’re not in Braille, but he can smell the different highlighters you have used and he can separate the topics accordingly. “It’s the stack on the right, isn’t it?” 

You rub your eyes. “Yes.”

“And that’s what?”

“Statistics, behaviorism and, um… I don’t know, cognitive development, maybe. I can’t remember. God!” Thinking about it makes you nauseous. “I can’t even remember, Matt. I am so going to fail!”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips to shush you softly. His hand motions for you to join him on the floor. With some struggle, he finds the stack you’ve been talking about. He hands it to you. 

“You’re going to take these and spread them out,” he tells you, “While I take care of those you’ve already summarized, alright?”

You stammer, “What?”

“We’re gonna start with statistics. You are going to go through your notes at your speed while you tell me about them, and I’m gonna rub your back while you do. If you need a break,” he says, “We’re gonna take a break. If you wanna stop, we stop. And if you want me to stay until you’re done with both topics, I’ll stay for the boring behaviorism stuff, too.”

Somehow his readiness to help you without even knowing what he, ever the law student, is helping you with makes you cry even harder. He understands you in a way nobody can, and he never pressures you, not even when it comes to your classes. He knows you torture yourself enough and Matt being Matt, he can’t have you being sad. 

He stays true to his promise. He sits behind you, rubbing your back as you go over your notes, summarize them and tell him about them. Statistics are the bane of your existence, but psychology relies on them, so you’re forced to relive the worst module of your life. But with him by your side, telling you every so often, “You are doing such a good job,” and, “I know you can do it, baby,” it’s a lot easier. 

At around eight, your stomach growls, but you are long done with the statistics part and have decided, with some of Matt’s encouraging words, that there is still time tomorrow to get done with behaviorism and then when you’re done with both, he told you, he’d help you memorize. He hasn’t decided how yet, but he is determined and as the sun goes down and you lay in his arms, freshly showered and shaven on your bed, you can’t help but stare at his beautiful face. You would have lost your mind without him, you don’t doubt that, and he somehow always knows when to come and what to do. He knows when you feel down and when you need space. He knows you better than you know yourself and that is something no one but Matt Murdock has ever accomplished. 

Without him, you are pretty sure you would maybe not have failed your classes but you would have failed at life. Your mind would have failed you and you would have drowned. But with him, you’re a little more alive. 

“I love you,” you tell him sometime after he forced you to eat proper dinner, and he gently smiles against your hair. 

“I love you,” he says. “And you are going to do great, I just know it.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

“Well, one of us has to. Besides,” he flips you over so that he can hover over you, his brown hair falling from his face into yours and you giggle at his antics, “I am a good catholic boy. If I didn’t have faith in the divine, where would I be?”

His words leave you gasping, but nothing can match up to the force and passion he kisses you with. Psychology and messy room long forgotten, you melt into his touch and let his hands and lips speak a language only the two of you understand, and they always manage to pull you out of any hole with a symphony that has become your favorite music.

“Well, one of us has to. Besides,” he flips you over so that he can hover over you, his brown hair falling from his face into yours and you giggle at his antics, “I am a good catholic boy. If I didn’t have faith in the divine, where would I be?”

His words leave you gasping, but nothing can match up to the force and passion he kisses you with. Psychology and messy room long forgotten, you melt into his touch and let his hands and lips speak a language only the two of you understand, and they always manage to pull you out of any hole with a symphony that has become your favorite music.

MY HEART IS BURSTING WITH HAPPINESS RN

how about tasm!peter helping reader overcome anxiety, but she has a hard time expressing herself to others, even about anxiety. but peter wants to help comfort her no matter what 🤍 don't need to write this if you don't want lol

AN | Okay, this got away from me, but I think it’s so cute! There’s also a first kiss🥰❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3.9k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter Parker was pretty. Really fucking pretty. 

That was one of the first things you’d noticed about him freshman year in your early morning biochem class. You learned, later on, that he was also incredibly kind, charming, and ridiculously smart. Like genius level smart. You knew he liked photography, which happened to be a hobby of your own. You wanted to be his friend; you’d thought many times about going up and speaking to him, but always talked yourself out of it.

Why would Peter Parker want to be your friend?

Instead you admired from afar, from a safe distance. But once you both graduated from ESU and went on to getting advanced degrees, you were sure that you’d never see him again. After all, New York was a huge city, and the odds that your lives would be intertwined enough to run into each other on a regular basis seemed slim to none. 

So - imagine your surprise when you started working as a research scientist at Biotech a few years and another degree later and you found that Peter Parker was starting at the same time as you. You’d done so well to keep your distance, to keep your feelings in check by being a silent admirer. But now, not only would you be seeing him every day…you’d be working closely with him in a lab all by yourself. 

You had no clue how you were going to survive, and part of you was tempted to quit and look for a different job, but you’d worked so long and so hard for this position that you weren’t going to just give it up. You were just going to have to suck it up. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And it worked, surprisingly. Peter was nothing if not polite and kind, and honestly he was a dream to work with. The two of you had a certain synchronicity that just was hard to put into words, but you complimented perfectly. Despite your initial fear, working in a lab with Peter went well. The worst part was that it made it all the more easy to fall for him. But you doubted he would ever see you as anything other than the girl at work. 

“Hey,” Peter softly interrupted your silent prayer to release any feelings for him with a soft smile. It was getting later into the evening and you were both getting ready to leave for the weekend. You flashed him a smile in response but slipped on your coat, “I was wondering…umm, do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

No way. No freaking way was Peter Parker asking you to get dinner. Right? Right?

“I-I’m sorry,” you blinked a few times and looked at him with wide eyes. His cheeks flushed a pretty pastel shade of pink as he nervously ran a hand through his hair, “what did you say?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to get some dinner,” he repeated softly, shrugging one of his shoulders lightly, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time outside of work together.”

“You want to spend time with me?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You needed to make an appointment to get your ears checked. Peter would never want to be with you outside of work. Or, if anything, he might have been so lonely that he welcomed anyone’s company, “me?”

“Yes you,” he laughed softly and it was a sound you’d memorized over the years but still made your knees weak. He took a step closer and bit his lip for a moment, “let me clarify so we’re both on the same page - I, Peter Parker, am asking you, you, if you’d like to go out and dinner.”

“Oh,” every dream you’d ever had of Peter seemed to be coming true then and there. Peter liked you, Peter wanted to spend time with you; maybe you’d never been invisible to him after all. But no. You couldn’t…you just couldn’t. You were sure if anything he’d spend about ten minutes with you alone and he’d grow bored of you and make some excuse to leave. The idea that Peter would end up being bored of you was enough to make you never want to speak again, “umm…Peter, t-that’s really nice of you to ask. But I just…can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” it was laced with disappointment and you could see his face falling. You were pretty sure you’d just made things so much worse than if you’d just agreed on going, “no worries! I just thought I’d ask, it’s no big deal - maybe next time…well, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, Peter,” you watched as he grabbed his bag and left, pausing at the door to turn around and give you a small wave. You returned and remained rooted in place, regret clouding your mind. If you hadn’t had such bad anxiety, you would have said yes. But the fear of messing everything up had been worse. You sighed at yourself, “pathetic.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There was something quite lovely about New York in the middle of the night. The city never quite deadened, but there was a lull to life that made everything feel so much calmer than normal. That, combined with the insomnia you struggled with from time to time, was enough of a reason for you to venture outside. You grabbed your camera and slowly climbed out of your window and onto the fire escape, slowly making your way the several floors up to the rooftop. When you got there, you set out a long exhale of relief as you looked around the space and found the big blanket you stashed up here for times like this. 

It was chilly out, but it was exhilarating and made you feel more alive than you had all day. You walked around the rooftop and looked out into the city, trying to find anything worthy of your attention. After scouring for a few minutes, you found a gathering on one of the nearby streets and decided to capture it. You framed the shot, but before you could even press the shutter, you heard something loud fall next to you, accompanied by a small oof. 

You dropped the camera which was luckily around a strap on your neck and turned towards the commotion. To your surprise and shock you found Spider-Man looking right back at you. You gasped, hands covered your face as you looked at the man in the blue and red spandex suit, “Spider-Man?”

“Hi,” he cheerily waved before putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side, “what’re you doing up here? It’s freezing - and it’s late.”

“What are you doing on my roof?” you asked with just as much surprise. You’d seen him on the news, read about him on the internet, but you’d never seen him in the flesh before, “you’re shorter than I expected.”

He playfully groaned and you were sure that he’d rolled his eyes under that mask, “first of all, I’m patrolling, and I happened to be swinging by. Secondly - I’m above average height, thank you very much!”

“Well, I don’t know, I expected you to be like…6’5 or something,” you shrugged, stifling a laugh at his distress, “aren’t you a superhero and all?”

“I am still a person-”

“With spider-like abilities,” you found yourself grinning in spite of the initial nerves, “so I dunno, I figured you might be tall. The news does you justice I guess.”

“Yeah well…fine,” he huffed lightly as you laughed at him. You could have sworn that he sounded so familiar and you couldn’t quite place it. Part of you was sure that he sounded like Peter, but there was no way that your crush of eight plus years and lab partner was Spider-Man, “but seriously, what are you doing up here?”

“I…I couldn’t sleep,” you found it incredibly easy to talk to him, nerves and anxiety the last thing on your mind. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t see his face, or the fact that you had no clue who he was, “I go outside when I can’t sleep…it helps sometimes.”

“It’s dangerous,” he reminded you and you shrugged lightly, “you shouldn’t be out alone at night in this city.”

“Well I don’t exactly have someone that’s just available to come out with me at three in morning when I’m dealing with insomnia,” if you didn’t know any better you were sure that he sounded concerned, “it’s not the first time I’ve done this. I’ll be okay.”

“You have someone now,” he insisted and your mouth opened in surprise. When he saw the visible confusion on your face he pointed at himself, “that way I know you’ll be safe.”

“There’s only one problem with that.”

“Which is…?”

“How am I supposed to just call you if I need you?” you asked softly and he chuckled warmly as if there was some sort of inside joke between the two of you, “I don’t think there’s some sort of Spidey Signal or something.”

“I’ll be here,” he promised, “I’ll know.”

“Sure,” you liked the sound of it but you highly doubted he would just show up when you needed him. He had a whole city that he kept safe, and you were just one unimportant, small person among millions, “thanks for the concern.”

“I care about you, you know,” he said it like it was something of some personal thing to him. He must have caught his mistake because he quickly cleared his throat and added, “I care about everyone in New York.”

“Of course you do, you’re Spider-Man,” you gave him a small smile and decided that perhaps it was time for you to go. You were about to turn around and head for the fire escape when he stopped you.

“You have a camera,” you looked down before looking back at him and nodding softly, “you’re a photographer?”

“Amateur,” you confessed with a shy smile, “scientist by day, amateur photographer by night. It’s just a hobby, but it’s stuck with me through the years.”

“Wow,” you could tell that he sounded genuinely impressed. Peter, of course, knew you were a scientist, but he had no idea that you’d shared the same hobby too. It made his heart melt a little more, “that’s really cool.”

“Not as cool as being Spider-Man,” you insisted softly as he made a small sound, “I guess I better get going. And let you get back to work…or whatever you call it.”

“I’d love to see some of your work sometime,” the small that worked its way onto your face was breathtaking and made his knees weak, “if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” you nodded with your face warm despite the chill of the late fall air, “definitely. Well…I guess I’ll see you around Spidey.”

“See you around, smart girl,” if he’d had the mask off, you’d have seen the giant, dopey grin on Peter’s face. But he was gone, swinging back into the evening as you stood there and stared after him.

You were pretty sure you had just  befriended Spider-Man. Holy fuck.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You really hadn’t expected to see him ever again. But on your next little, a late night walk through the streets of Queens, he made another appearance. He swung over and gracefully landed next to you, easily catching up to your stride. You couldn’t deny that you were elated to have him there. There was something easy about talking to him, about giving bits and pieces of yourself to him, and taking what he gave back. He was always careful not to give too much away, not to reveal too much of his real identity, but you felt like you were getting to know him. And you really liked him. You spend weeks upon weeks of your evenings with Spider-Man, growing closer than you’d have thought possible to the masked man.

On the other hand, it felt like your relationship with Peter was slowly slipping away. After that first night when you’d turned him down, you created a bit of a divide between the two of you. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to be his friend or even more, it was just that you didn’t trust yourself around him. He made was Peter fucking Parker and you were just…nobody. He never made you feel that way, but that’s just what you had ingrained in your mind. And, to your dismay, Peter slowly pulled back as well, which you took as rejection, when in reality it was him not wanting to make you uncomfortable. Either way, you wished you could go back in time and just say yes to him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Spider-Man seemed to notice your glum mood the next time he saw you. You hadn’t even gone out to the roof or for a walk, but he’d made an appearance at your bedroom window, gently tapping on the glass once he’d spied you sitting at your desk, typing away. When you heard the noise, you turned around and your face morphed into a look of surprise and then happiness. You rushed over to open the window and let him.

“How did you know which window was mine?” you asked softly as he took your outstretched hand and stepped into the room. He set his hands on his hips and looked around your room, taking it all in; your face flushed with warmth as he realized he was getting a glimpse into your most intimate space. 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he said as though that explained everything, “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” your face softened and he nodded. 

“Can I sit?” he pointed at your bed and you nodded eagerly before plopping back down into your cushy desk chair, “I like your room. ‘s cute.”

“I…I never thought Spider-Man would be in my bedroom, I might have decorated a little more,” you joked and he laughed lightly, but he could see that your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He paused for a moment and you could feel that he was studying you, trying to pull you apart, “what?”

“You seem upset,” he whispered, leaning towards and holding out his hand. He hesitated for a moment, trying to make sure that he didn’t cross any of your boundaries, but when he noticed that you almost leaned, put his hand on the side of your face and gently stroked your cheek, “what’s wrong, my smart girl?”

My smart girl. He had a tendency to call you; you secretly loved it more than you cared to admit. 

“It’s nothing.” you insisted, biting the inside of your cheek in order to keep the tears from welling up. You put your hand on his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. When he made a small sound of concern in his throat, you couldn’t back the tears. A few pearled up and rolled down your cheeks, “it’s my own fault, it’s so stupid. Really, i-it’s fine.”

“It’s making you upset,” you could practically hear the frown in his voice as he used his thumb to wipe away your tears, “it’s not stupid if it’s making you upset. You don’t have to tell me…but I am here for you if you want to tell me. You can tell me anything.”

“It’s just…my friend,” you sighed lightly and pulled back, curling into yourself, “I think he’s my friend, anyway. I feel like I kept pushing him away and now I don’t think he wants to be my friend anymore. I don’t think he wants anything to do with me. We work together, and he almost never talks to me anymore unless it is about work.”

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized you were talking about him. He felt himself getting choked up as well, “what makes you think that?”

“I feel so dumb,” you shook your head, “it’s just that…I think I like him. I mean I do like him, a-as more than a friend. I’ve had a crush on Peter for a long time. Like eight years, but I’ve always thought I was invisible to him. But he just…he knows all these things about me, and it’s like…it feels like he’s always seen me, you know?”

“Why did you push him away?” Peter’s heart was beating so fast and hard he was surprised you couldn’t hear it, and even more surprised it didn’t just burst through his chest, “what happened?”

“He asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him,” you confessed as if he didn’t know all of this, “and I thought it was just as friends at first but I think he might have meant more…he seemed so upset when I said no. It made me sad to see him like that. I didn’t mean to hurt him or upset him, I just…I got so in my head and let my anxiety get the best of me. So I just said no.” 

“Did you want to say no?” he asked softly as you looked up and met his gaze through the white eyes of the mask. It just felt like he knew you, and that you knew him. There had always been that very familiar air about him, but you’d never been able to quite place why.

“No,” you admitted with a small, bitter little laugh, “I wanted to say yes. I want to spend more time with him and…I really do like him. But I’m afraid he’s going to get to know me more and think I’m boring or lame, or he just won’t like me. I have really bad anxiety and it really gets to me.”

“I’d never be able to guess,” he confessed and you gave him a small smile.

“It’s different with you,” you admitted shyly, “I feel comfortable around you, andI always have. I don't know why, but it’s true. That’s how I feel with Peter too, except that one time I clammed up so much and ruined everything.”

“I’m sure you didn’t ruin anything,” he insisted softly, and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, “what’s so funny?”

“I don’t have as much confidence,” you shrugged, “how are you so sure? You don’t know Peter, you didn’t see the look on face when I said no. I…I never want to see that look on his face again. It made me so sad.”

Peter was internally debating on what to do. He could either tell you that it was him and risk the chance that you’d hate him forever for not telling you for so long and getting all of this out of you. Or he could continue on as Spider-Man and never tell you that it was. Or he could tell you tomorrow at work…as Peter. There were risks and benefits from each scenario. All he knew was that he couldn’t lose you; that would be too much.

“You know, Spidey, you remind me of Peter in some ways,” you whispered shyly and his heart plummeted into his stomach, “you sound like him. And you like a lot of the same things and I dunno…I feel the same way around you as I do around him. That’s never really happened with anyone before.”

“Listen-”

“It’s almost like….” you stopped yourself, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you shook your head, “it’s silly. So stupid, really.”

“Tell me,” he asked softly, “please.”

You inhaled softly, your heart pitter-pattering wildly in your chest. It was your turn to hold up your hand and reach over, ghosting your fingertips along his jaw. He leaned into your touch ever so slightly and you could feel the warmth of his skin even under the mask. You closed your eyes for a moment before exhaling shakily, “Peter?”

He paused for a moment before taking your hand and guiding it to the back of your neck where you felt the zip of the mask. You undid it softly, slowly, and when he sensed your hesitation, he helped you and slowly pulled off the mask, revealing himself to you. 

You gasped lightly when you found Peter Parker’s glittering honeyed eyes looking back at you nervously. You couldn’t help the nervous laugh that bubbled up, and he visibly relaxed when you didn’t get angry. He held up his hand nervously, “hi.”

“This whole time,” you felt your face warm up when you realized that you had basically confessed your feelings to him, “I knew you seemed familiar, Spidey. I should've known that it was you. I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. When it happened with Spider-Man, I didn’t think anything of it. But it was you this whole time.”

“I didn’t know if I should tell you,” he whispered, “but I wanted you to know. And I never meant to make you feel like I was pushing you away. I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable….when I had asked you out and you said no, I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same way, so I thought it’d be best to back off.”

“It wasn’t you,” you promised, “it never was. It was me. Peter, I meant what I said, I’ve had a crush on you since that first day in biochem. I wanted to be your friend for so long, but just could never bring myself to say anything. I thought maybe I could use the photography thing since that’s something we both like but it just never seemed like a good time. And when we started working together…it was nerve-wracking and wonderful. And when you asked me for dinner, I panicked and thought I would surely ruin everything, so I took the possibility of failure away by saying no and making it impossible.”

“Ever the logical scientist,” he smiled softly, “my smart girl. But so you know, you could never have ruined anything. Do you want to know a secret?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve liked you too,” he admitted and your heart felt like it was going to burst, “since that first day in biochem. But you’ve always been way out of my league, so I never said anything.”

“No way!”

“Way,” the look on your face was both pretty and priceless and he was dying to finally kiss you, “now you know all my secrets.”

“Do you want to know one of mine, Peter Parker?”

“Yes.”

“I thought about what it would be like to kiss you so many times,” you whispered so softly that he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to hear you without his heightened senses, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Peter’s eyes lit up and you both leaned in, his lips inches away from yours. After a moment of hesitation, he finally kissed you, soft and sweet. He pulled back much sooner than you would have wished, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure it was alright. Your beaming face told him it was more than alright. 

“Was that okay?” he sounded so nervous it was almost too precious.

“I think so,” you teased lightly, “but I am a scientist and need more data to form a proper conclusion.”

“As a fellow scientist, I’m more than happy to provide all the data you could need,” he was grinning from ear to ear, “if you want that is…”

“Yes, Peter Parker,” you kissed him softly, “I would love that.”

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

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You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

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AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

Show Me How You Sin

pairing: Priest!Matt x AFAB!Virgin!Reader

words: 3.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! umm haha everything? blasphemy, heavy desecration of religion, virgin reader, oral (f receiving), guided masturbation, soft!dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, reader is in 20’s

synopsis: Father Matthew leads you through your confession and first orgasm

A/N: haha hey! don’t read this is sacrilegious themes offend you!

REBLOGS/COMMENTS/FEEDBACK/LIKES ARE VERY MUCH WELCOMED HEHE

DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION. I’LL SMITE YOU.

he has to know how good he looks, right?

honey, he’s blind.

your mother gives you a quick side eye partnered with a smirk as you mumble to each other from the pew, relishing in the sight in front of you.

black garments cling to Father Murdock’s body in just the right way as he preaches about something you’ve probably heard many times before. your focus is purely on the way his hands rest against the wooden pulpit, veins visible under the dim light, and you can’t help the way your thoughts wander.

his fingers tap into the wood as he emphasizes some point, …your Heavenly Father will also forgive you, practically teasing you to imagine the way they would feel against the inside of your thigh, pressing into the soft flesh as your dress rides up with his touch.

the vasculature of his hands becomes more prominent as he grips onto the pulpit, and you have to swallow away the question of what his hands would look like wrapped around your throat while your lips release sweet moans.

your cheeks flush as you watch the way his tongue darts from the corner of his mouth and wets his lip, the voice catching in your throat as you swear you saw him smirk. you could’ve sworn he caught you; the way you crossed your legs and clenched your thighs together to relieve some of the ache from your core, the way your bottom lip was lodged between your teeth to stifle any moan that threatened to slip, the way your own fingers grabbed onto your sides as you crossed your arms around your body to hold yourself together.

don’t be ridiculous, he’s blind.

a sea of bodies rises from the pews, indicating the end of service. you deflate like a balloon, comfortable disappearing into the crowd and looking forward to relieving your… stress… in the comfort of your own bedroom.

you know it’s wrong, he’s a priest! I have hid thy promise in my heart, that I might not sin against thee. he’s MY priest… but it feels so good to reach that sweet spot when you rub your clothed cunt against the pillow in just the right way, unknowing of what happens after the buildup, wishing it was some part of the man who lead your prayers to help you discover what comes next.

your cheeks burn from embarrassment as you stand, only to find remnants of your arousal and sweat on the pew below.

“Hi.” The voice catches you off guard, causing you to trip over the aisle carpet.

“Careful, there.” His smile is charming as two large hands catch your falling body, the touch lingering on your waist for a second too long.

“S-sorry, Father.” It’s barely a whisper, but he catches your apology, clearly noting the way your heartbeat thunders in your chest.

He can tell you’re blushing by the way your cheeks and ears grow warmer, your skin already slightly damp from the debauchery he had very much noticed before.

His ear turns towards your parents ever so slightly, noticing the quiet laugh your mother is trying to hush- she must be embarrassed or- nervous?

“No need to apologize. I just wanted to see how you all were doing? It’s rare I get a moment to talk to everyone around here!” His smile is radiant as he addresses your family, your breath faltering as he moves his hand to the small of your back.

“Good! We’re all great! Home from college from now,” your mother winks at you, “just enjoying all the ways the Lord has been blessing us!” She’s overly excited as she relishes in the priest’s attention.

“Amen to that.”

Electricity flows from Father Matthew’s fingertips as he lightly grazes the seam of your dress. Your vision seems to blur at the foreign touch, only to be spewed on by the throbbing ache from between your thighs. The conversation is incoherent, your only train of thought telling your body to relax. breathe in, breathe out.

“I’m glad to hear it, it was nice speaking with you!” You take his words as your cue to leave but are halted as your parents take a few steps away.

“Actually,” the way he says your name nearly stops your heart entirely. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in confession?” His lip is upturned in a seasoned smile, one you had recognized before.

“I- um,”

“There’s no pressure, of course. I could just always use the extra practice. Not many people come around anymore, if you can believe that!” You swear you could see the crinkles form around his eye through the red glasses, and you sigh as his hand finally leaves your back.

“Sure. I’m, uh, definitely guilty of that.” As quickly as you relaxed at the absence of his touch, another part of you craved it.

He senses your hesitation, his attuned ears catching the way you crane your neck to scout your parents, only to hide a smile as he can hear your hands flap, shooing away your parents.

“You first,” he motions towards the confessional, vacant gaze trained towards your figure, disappearing into the confines of secrecy.

The wooden bench chills the backside of your thighs as you sit. The silhouette of your priest altered through the grated partition causes your heartbeat to quicken, and you’re suddenly on trial for your sins.

“Bless me, Father Murdock, for I have sinned…” He catches the shakiness in your voice, and the mention of his name causes him to shift his legs in his private section.

“It’s been…” You have to think of how long you had been away at college to remember the last time you’d repeated the phrase. “Four months since my last confession.”

“I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Thank you, Father Murdock-”

“Matthew. You can call me Matthew, if you’d like.” Your cheeks flush at the invitation and he notices, of course he does. Father Matthew… If only he knew how many times that name left your lips in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I, um… I have been struggling lately, Father Matthew.” The weighted confession leaves your mouth causing the crotch of his pants to grow tighter in unholy temptation.

“I have these feelings,” you clear your throat.

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Feelings that sometimes, well,” You’re unsure of how much you’re willing to tell. Granted, the guilt had been eating you alive, but a part of you enjoyed it- enjoyed it the way you enjoyed the feel of him pressing into your back.

“Sometimes they actually turn physical and…” he can tell you’re nervous by the way your cheeks warm and you cross your legs, clenching your thighs together in the process.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed or nervous, God honors your honesty, and so do I.” His voice is calm, almost too calm, and eases you into your repentance.

“When do these feelings typically happen?“ he already knew the answer; it was as if he was baiting you, perhaps he was.

He could sense the way you purposefully rubbed your clothed core against the pews while the congregation stood- the hymns hiding the breathy moans that left your lips when you barely rocked forward. He felt the way your lips threatened to wrap around his finger when he placed the bread on your tongue, his attuned ears catching the shakiness of your prayer. He could smell your arousal through the wooden partition as you contemplated your answer.

“They happen often, Father. And I don’t understand them. I’m ashamed, I think.”

“Shame is a heavy burden, but the burden Christ gives us is-“

“Light.” you speak at the same time.

“Exactly. Good girl” Matt catches the breath that becomes lodged in your throat, your pulse beating rapidly as you brush the hair from your face, exposing the delicate skin of your neck. He wants nothing more than to press his lips to the spot behind your ear, helping you to create pretty sounds.

“Tell me, what makes you ashamed of these feelings?” You’re caught off guard at his sultry tone.

“They happen when I do unholy things” Your confession falls on sensitive ears.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Unholy things like…” You don’t even realize your eyes are closed as your fingers caress your thighs, your lower lip hiding a moan as your fingertips brush the hem of your cotton panties. What are you doing?

“Like what you’re doing right now?” Matt noticed the way your concentration had adjusted, and he could sense the pad of your fingertips rub against the thicker seam- your breath falters and your body tenses as you’re caught. His cock throbs in the confinement of his pants.

“None of us are without sin. But I am interested in something.” His voice is raspy.

“Why don’t you show me how you sin?” you feel faint but gasp audibly at his proposal, your core throbbing at the thought.

“Father… I don’t… I”

“Your heavenly father has already forgiven you. May I?” He leans his head closer to the partition, eager to sense your response. You whimper at the thought of pleasuring yourself, fully confessing and at the mercy of the priest, and your fingers brush against your warm cunt, causing you to whisper a moan as you graze the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it, so obedient.” he clears his throat. “Do that again for me.”

The pad of your fingertips press into your clit and your eyes flutter shut.

“Good girl,” He notes the way you moan at the praise. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

“I feel, I feel dirty.” You do. You really, really do. But you also feel really, really good.

“Dirty is an interesting word to use… tell me where your hands are.”

“They’re on my thighs, Father.” He waits for a moment as he listens for the sound of your soft skin being kneaded, but he finds something else entirely.

“Angel, lying defeats the purpose of confession. Where are your hands?” It’s condescending and almost threatening, and you realize where you’re sitting and who you’re talking to.

It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. But neither of you are willing to stop.

“They’re on my… my…”

“Your pussy?” He growls as he finally palms his hard length while imagining your innocent body responding to his games.

“Yes.” You’re fully clothed but feel naked- exposed.

“Good girl. There’s no shame in pleasure. After all, God created it. Are your thighs spread open?” He knew the answer. He could practically taste the way you coated the booth.

“Yes.”

“I want to ask you something, is that alright?“

“Yes.”

“Have you ever tasted yourself before?” Your stomach lurches at the thought.

“No.”

“Such a shame.” You swear you hear him tsk in disapproval. “Would you like to?”

“Y-yes.”

The curtain of your booth is pulled away quickly, equally catching you off guard. You hadn’t even heard him remove himself from his side, and you certainly weren’t expecting to see the flushed face of your priest as your legs were spread wide open for anyone to see. Truthfully, though, you didn’t care if anyone saw. You were unable to form any other thought, fully surrendering to the desires of your flesh, whatever that meant.

It’s silent for a moment as he stands in front of you, his head turning to perceive your already wrecked state. Heavy breaths fill the small space as anticipation grows. Your back sinks against the hardwood, causing your thighs to spread even further, your clothed pussy peeking out from under your dress in silent invitation. Matt accepts gladly, wishing he could watch the way your eyes grew in size as he lowered himself in front of you.

His hands, the ones you had fantasized about so many times before, shakily greet your calves, the fingers gently teasing against the skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He smirks at the way you moan at the minimal touch, only then wondering how much you had been denying yourself.

“Angel,” his lips press into the inside of your knee. “Have you sinned like this before? With another person?”

You shake your head in response, and Matt can tell the answer by the way your arousal seeps from your panties, but you quickly correct yourself.

“N-no Father Matthew.”

“Such a good girl.” He places another kiss on the opposite knee.

“Oh, Christ!” You exhale as his hands travel further towards your core, his fingers dancing against your thighs, kisses littering wherever he touches. He smiles at your reactions.

Teeth lightly nip at the delicate flesh, and he inhales deeply as his nose practically nudges against where you crave him the most. He sighs into you, his warm breath against your sobbing pussy causing you to moan.

“So responsive,” his thumb traces the inside seam of your white cotton underwear, threatening to please you. “May I?” He faces you, desperately trying to find your eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, giving permission to something you’re not even sure he’s asking.

The heel of your foot, the hardness of a pew, the softness of a pillow, the texture of a stuffed animal was nothing compared to the way Matt’s thumb caressed your throbbing clit through your panties. You jolted, nearly hitting your head, at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Oh!” His fingers grabbed onto the plump flesh of your thighs just as they held onto the pew, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your bundle of nerves.

“F-father,” You call for him, failing to catch the amusement plastered on his face.

“Hm? How does this feel, sweetheart? You can’t form words to express how you were feeling.

“Good. S-so good. Thank you.” He moans at your gratitude, his member throbbing consequently. His fingers hook into the elastic, patience leaving his body as he desperately needs to taste you.

“Angel, let me make you feel good.” He pleads with a kiss to your panty-cladded cunt. An open mouth moan against your core causes you to reach for him as he denies himself the pleasure of lapping up your taste. “Please, will you let me make you feel good?”

You aren’t sure how it can feel much better than this, but you oblige with ease.

“Please, Father Matthew. Please make me feel good.”

Your underwear fall to your ankles with haste, the air against your wet pussy causing you to shiver. Matt shivers as your arousal floods the tiny space, taunting him to devour you.

“Sweetheart, you tell me if you’d like me to stop, okay?” His fingers find your hand and wrap around your wrist as you give your silent consent.

His warm breath greets you first as you sharply inhale, this will be fun, and he teases you with the flat of his tongue pressing against the entirety of your pussy.

“H-help.” Had he heard you correctly?

“Help? Is everything okay? Would you like me to stop?” His brows furrowed in concern and he loosened his grip.

“No!” You practically shout, the echo hurting his ear slightly. “No! Please. I just… I’ve never felt this and I…” You’re embarrassed to admit you aren’t sure how to feel.

“Relax, angel. I promise I’m going to take care of you, ” He places a small kiss on your thighs. “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore,” he quotes scripture before placing his lips to your clit. You relax into the feeling, unsure of whether it was the familiarity of the words or the satiation of your flesh.

The tip of his tongue runs through your wet folds, sucking lightly to taste every drop, before flicking and circling against your swollen clit. Your moans cause his cock to throb against his thigh as he relishes in your sweetness.

“Fuck,” The profanities surprise you as they’re murmured from below. “Taste so fuckin’ delicious, sweetheart.” Your cheeks flush at the compliment.

“So fuckin’ sweet, just like an angel. My little angel,” His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and he sucks lightly, the sound of spit audible to anyone who could pass by. He’s surprised by the way you respond and throw your hands against his head before quickly pulling back in regret.

“It’s okay,” he coos from below. “You can touch me.” You burn with temptation at his invitation and sink back into the wooden frame at an awkward angle, your fingers gently caressing the side of his head.

“Oh, Father.” You attempt to stifle your moan by catching part of your dress in your mouth, but he stops you before it passes your lips.

“Don’t be shy, kitten.” An outreached hand reaches to cup your face, his heart softening at the way you nuzzle into his touch. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking pleasure. Do you need me to help you?” you nod your head against his palm and he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer against him

“There you go, such a good girl. Just like that.” Your head falls back as he laps up your arousal from your leaking hole and places kitten licks against your clit, your moans falling freely.

“God,” you whimper, “that feels so good. I-I like that.”

He continues his ministrations, applying a steady pressure to your sensitive clit as your fingers grip into his hair and your hips lightly rut into him. He growls against your movements, and a wet spot grows visible against his trousers.

“That's it princess,” He moans into you. “Show me what you like. Show me how you like it.” you adjust your hips and lightly grind against his tongue. His grip onto you tightens, surely leaving bruises in return, as he encourages you to grow confident in your motions.

“Please please please” unsure of what you’re asking for as your thrusts grow quicker and more erratic. Matt mumbles a prayer and hums against your clit, causing you to force his face to press into you even more.

“Do that again, please.” you beg for more of the new sensations, his hums vibrating against your most sensitive area. He obliges with haste, silently praying and eager for a taste of your release.

An unfamiliar sensation bubbles within as your priest devours your pleasure. If the idea of the holiest man you knew moaning against your virgin cunt wasn’t enough to bring you to an orgasm, the sounds of your slick and his drool mixing and coating your clit was enough to do so.

“Father, what’s happening?” Your eyes attempt to open, but your lashes flutter at the pleasure. Your chest heaves as Matt brings you to the edge of your first orgasm.

“Just as the Father has washed you from iniquity, let this feeling wash over you, angel.” You’re sure you’ve reached Heaven. Your entire body tenses as you cling onto Matt, holding him against your clit as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

“Oh fuck! Oh Christ!” The muscles in your thighs tremble as they involuntarily close around the priest’s head; he moans as the sweetness of your taste and smell floods his senses. Your body shakes with pleasure and your abs contract with each wash of euphoria.

Your arousal drips from you like honey from a honeycomb, and Matt collects it with the tip of his tongue and spreads it over your clit before sucking gently, causing you to jolt from overstimulation.

“Ouch!” You flinch, “It hurts, Father.”

“If we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.” He recites the verse into your sopping cunt with a last lick, savoring your first sin. You’re surprised as he reaches for your face and brings you forward, your lips pressing into one another with a gentle kiss.

You moan into him, embarrassed that you’re enjoying the simple intimacy and the taste of you. He returns the pleasantry, his tongue tracing your swollen bottom lip before breathing into you a final time; his heart mirrors you at the slight ache.

His lips trail kisses from your face to your neck, stopping at your core while his fingers dip between your folds for good measure, before disappearing behind his lips. He continues his trail of kisses down the length of your legs before pulling your panties in their proper position.

Your legs groan as you finally stand at your full height and marvel at the sight below you. The priest's robes had been abandoned long ago, and he looked oddly human as he knelt below you. Your hand reaches towards him, reaching to hold his face, and he leans into your tender touch. He places an intimate kiss on your palm before standing, awkwardly adjusting the erection in his pants.

“I, um, I can-” He smiles at your offer.

“No, you don’t have to. It’s okay, angel. You did enough today.” You blush at his words, wishing you could run from the impending separation.

You’re surprised as he places a kiss to your forehead before running his hands against your figure, straightening the hem of your dress with precision and a kind smile, the sheen of your arousal still evident on his lip. You return the favor by gingerly adjusting the red tinted glasses and brushing a piece of his hair from his forehead. Your thumb rubs against his lips before disappearing into your mouth.

“Will I see you next Sunday?” He breaks the tender moment.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl.”

This series has captured my heart and I’m not ready to let it go😭 Plz continue writing more beautiful works like this<3

Creature Comforts - Chapter 7 Final

Creature Comforts Masterlist

A/N: I apologize for this being late. I had no idea how I was going to finish it. Maybe, in my mind, I didn't want to finish it. But I'm so glad that I decided to write this. I have gained some amazing new friends and mutuals because of this fic, and I will forever be grateful. As always, my ASKS and inbox are open.

Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, and liked the story. I appreciate you!

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of smut, but nothing too graphic.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

You woke up on your bed to a pounding headache. Rubbing your eyes, you noted the darkness still outside your bedroom window. You groaned feeling your sore legs and your aching back.

“Do you need something, sweetness?” his voice carried to you softly. You turned around to find him lying next to you in bed.

“Loki?” you asked surprised. He smiled at you as he lay there on his stomach, his head resting on top of his arms. His hair was a mess, spread out over the pillows. “How long was I out this time?” you asked, admiring his skin under the dim light in your room.

“Two hours. Roughly.”

“What happened? Where’s Chris?” You asked alarmed as you tried to sit up from your bed. Your back protested and your hips stabbed you with pain. Loki sat up with you and pushed you gently back down.

“Gently, Liesl. You don’t want to go back to the infirmary, do you?”

“W-was I in the infirmary?”

“I carried you down there while I dragged his sorry ass with my seidr. I would’ve preferred to let the rat bleed out in the balcony while I tended to you, but I couldn’t risk him escaping.”

“Is he…”

“Dead? No. Frozen as a popsicle. On his way to The Raft.” You nodded your head in understanding. “Rogers thought the best thing to do with him would be to freeze him like they did with Barnes all those years ago. The rest of the team came back to blood and glass all over the carpets and a broken television. I think they had bets on whether or not you had stabbed me.” He joked. You laughed at the thought as your bodies got closer the more you talked with each other.  “I don’t think Stark is too happy about it. Especially the blood stains on the carpet.”

“I can’t believe Chris took the serum. Do you think there’ll be more like him out there? What else did Steve say? Or Bucky? What did Bruce-”

“Shh,” Loki said as he put his fingers on your lips. “I don’t want to hear you talk about other men, while I’m in bed with you.”

You blushed as you realized where the two of you were. “What are you doing in my bed?” you asked.

Loki momentarily looked at you. A puzzled expression broke out on his face. “You’re right. I apologize. I should leave.” Loki moved to get up.

“No, no, no.” you reached for him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back into bed. “Stay. Please.” You pulled him closer to you in bed and wrapped his arms over your waist, while you tucked your arms in between you. A spontaneous smile broke out on his face as he finally held you close.

When he laid you down on your bed earlier, he debated internally on whether he should stay and watch over you. Or to let you go and rest. He watched you for a lengthy amount of time until he gave in to his urges and laid there with you on your bed. He didn’t dare touch you though. He still didn’t know where the two of you stood in the relationship. Now he got to hold you close. His thumb rubbing circles on the small of your back.

You both laid there, your faces so close to each other. You reached up and soothed his furrowed brow. You traced your fingers down to the tip of his nose then down to his soft pink lips. Loki pursed his lips slightly, giving your finger a small kiss. 

“Are you comfortable?” he whispered. You nodded your head, your noses barely kissing. All he would have to do is move just a tiny bit closer, and he would finally have your lips on his. But he needed to do something first. “I’m sorry, Liesl. For everything.”

“I forgive you.”

“I mean it. I really am sorry, my love. About the misunderstanding. About ignoring you. About Chris hurting you.”

“I know. Just…don’t do it again. Promise me you’ll talk to me, instead of ignoring me. Even though we might not end up together, I’d still like to be your friend.” You whispered softly. You didn’t want to assume that he wanted to be in a relationship with you. Ever since you saw him with someone else, it just broke your confidence about being with him.

“Is that what you want? To remain friends?” Loki asked soberly. You both lay there quietly. Afraid of the thoughts going on inside your heads. “Tell me, darling. Honesty, remember. Talking goes both ways.”

You started fidgeting with the top button on his shirt, your fingers needed something to play with as you tried to confess your feelings. “I would like to be more.” You said sheepishly, averting your eyes from his gaze, focusing on his button instead. “I didn’t know you back then. I thought that when you started noticing me, that I was just going to be another conquest to you. But ever since you took care of me at the hospital, and helped with my recovery. I’ve grown fond of…you…and our time together. Then, seeing you with another person earlier today, it hurt.”

“I’m so sorry, my dear. You will never know how much I regret doing that. I’m sorry I broke your trust in me. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts. When I heard what you said about your ex, I thought you were talking about me. In my head, it made sense that no one would really want to be with me.  I would like to be more too. If you’d still like to try.”

“Hmm.” You hesitantly agreed. “It did make me realize that I didn’t want to stay friends anymore. But I also couldn’t trust you not to do something hurtful like that if we get into an argument. You know me Loki, at least I hope you do. You know that I don’t like the drama, the angst. I just want things to be easy, comfortable.”

“I do know you, darling. That’s why I pursued you a long time ago. I saw you, cozy and relaxed. You were content to just let your light shine through. I wanted to be part of that. And what better way to crash into your life than to make you blush at every chance I get. I loved seeing you uncomfortable, so to speak. I loved it when I made you squirm or blush. When I hear your breath hitch. Or when you close your eyes relishing something I’ve done.”

By now, your fingers have moved from the buttons on his shirt to the warmth of the skin on his collar bone. You traced the muscles of his neck, feeling the vibrations as he spoke.

“Liesl?” He called you, wanting your attention.

“Hmm?” You were hypnotized by his voice.

“You can’t imagine how good that feels?” He closed his eyes, savoring your touch. Neither of you speaking, neither of you wanting to break the enchanting silence surrounding you. Both of you content to just have each other in your arms. Relieved that the night hadn’t gone worse and that you were both now finally speaking about what you wanted from each other.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, the question popping into your head, uncensored.

“Do what?”

“Save him from throwing him over the balcony.” You said sheepishly. Loki laughed.

“Did you want me to?”

“No! Maybe. No. Definitely, no.” Loki laughed harder. His body shaking the bed. “I guess I was just curious as to what you were thinking. I knew that if you had gone through with it, you wouldn't have forgiven yourself afterward.”

“Hmm.” Loki contemplated for a moment before he answered. He was grateful that you knew enough about him to understand that, yes, he would never forgive himself afterward. “I was so angry at him for what he had done to you. I was so angry at myself for what I had done to you. I suppose I wanted him to hurt the way I was. I wanted to throw my problems out the window, as they say.”

“What stopped you?”

“You. Your voice pulled me from my wrath like gravity. I felt your lips beckon me on my skin. The heat from your embrace warmed my body. Just – like – the sun.” He pulled you flush against him. His nose ran along your cheek, as his hands gripped you from behind.

“How are your legs?” Loki asked in a soft whisper.

“They’re ok. See?” you answered in an equally hushed tone as you lifted your leg over his waist and trapped him in between you. You winced slightly, trying to hide the ache in your thighs. Loki stifled a giggle, turning his head down towards the pillow.

“I’m not sure how to react to your teasing. Is this what it feels like every time I came on to you?” He asked blushing.

“Oh no! You’re much worse. You’ve had centuries to perfect it. You’re more disarming.”

“How am I worse? If you recall, you’re the one that kissed me first.” Loki almost shrieked.

“I did, didn’t I?” you laughed.

“Yes, you did!” Loki tightened his grip around you. “I also recall me saying, that if you wanted another one, you’d have to get up from that chair.”

“And I did. Didn’t I?” you said smiling.

“Yes. You did.” Loki breathed as he reached behind your head. You felt his cool breath tickle your lips just before they latched onto yours.

It wasn’t a peck this time. It was a lingering heat that finally exploded as you two kissed. You heard the crinkling of his lips as he opened them to invite you further in. The sharp sound sent an echo throughout the nerves of your body, energizing them. He sucked on your upper lip as you bit down on his lower one, making him moan.

Loki’s hands explored you. The curves of your back, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your thighs. He squeezed enthusiastically and you grimaced slightly at the pain.

“Oh, darling. I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” He asked panicked. You only giggled in response.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes. You said that too, then collapsed on me.”

“It’s been a tiring day.”

“I’m sorry I added to it.” You looked him in the eyes and you could see his genuine sincerity. “You have to know Liesl, I never meant for any of that to happen. I was just running on autopilot. Then the thing with Chris happened and it all went to hell…”

“Shh. It’s ok. I understand. Will you come to me though, the next time something like this happens? I don’t want to have to fight off other people just to keep your attention.” You smiled.

“I promise. Again, I’m sorry, love.” He gave you a slightly less heated kiss on your lips. “Will you fight other people for me though? That might be something I’d like to watch?” he said playfully.

“Would you really put some unsuspecting victim in harm’s way, my way, just to prove your point?”

“You’re right. No one can best you.”

“Damn straight!”

“To the victor goes the spoils.”

You pulled his shirt collar to bring his lips closer to you and said, “Hmm. Spoil me again.”

The next day, you had walked out with Loki trailing behind you. He hadn’t left your room all night, wanting to stay by you in case you needed something. Needless to say, neither of you slept. The break of dawn shone through your window to signal the both of you to get up from the dream-like state you were both in. The night hadn’t gone further than heated touches and filthy promises to ravage each other when you finally healed. ‘Motivation,’ Loki said to speed up your recovery.

You walked with your hand on the walls for support. His arm wrapped behind you ready to catch you in case you fell. When you walked out to the common area you seized up. Most of the team was sitting around the dining room table eating their version of breakfast. But what really caught your attention was the rest of the common room. Damage from the previous night made the room seem like a horror movie come to life.

Blood was everywhere, uncleaned and untouched.  A dark pool of it resting right by the bar area and trailed outside towards the balcony. The television hanging by the lone chord from the wall had dropped onto the glass shelves below it.  Loki looked timidly toward you.

“There she is,” Bruce said noticing you walk out.

“Careful there’s glass there on the carpet,” Steve said pointing down. Loki picked you up, bridal style, and carried you over the broken glass towards the team eating in the breakfast nook.

“Edelweiss, the next time you decide to throw a party and invite your evil exes for a duel, remind me to cover the walls with tarp. Dexter Morgan style.” Tony said, downing two painkillers with his black coffee. Steve and Loki just looked at him, tilting their heads, not understanding the references. Tony might as well be speaking tongues to them.

“I promise.” You rolled your eyes in agreement. Loki sat you down next to Natasha. He kissed your head and asked, “Coffee?” You nodded your head and said, “Please.”

Nat gave you her famous half-smirk. She pointed her cereal spoon between you and Loki who was at the kitchen counter making you your cup of coffee. You returned her smile and nodded your head. She narrowed her eyes at him and nodded her head in acceptance. Then she held up one finger and gave you a serious look as she raised her eyebrow. Then she motioned cutting her neck with her thumb. You patted her hand gently and shook your head, thanking her for her protectiveness.

“Are they telepathic?” Thor whispered to Sam as he watched your interactions.

“All women are, Thor,” Sam whispered back. “All women are.”

In the following weeks, Loki took it upon himself to be your personal trainer. It was both distracting and productive.

Productive because he would make it fun and use his charms to motivate you. He would dance with you across the gym floor. Or he would follow you up the stair machine in the gym, laughing as he stalked behind you. “Come on, darling. Two more flights and I can give you that foot massage afterward.” He would smirk.

Distracting because that massage would always lead to something more. “Well, if I massage your feet, I might as well do your calves and thighs,” he reasoned.

He would then proceed to your back, then your shoulders. Pretty soon your whole body would be covered in oil and Loki would soothe and relax every nerve and tension you had. His expert hands knew every inch of your body by now, and he knew exactly how to elicit the most primal moans out of your lips.

“Are you comfortable, dear heart?” He asked in a low quiet voice, trailing his strong fingers down your spine. You hummed in response - the most intelligent thing you could say after he does one of these sessions with you. And he would always do these sessions with you.

As heated and passionate as these massages were, it never got to be more than that – a body massage. He didn’t want to hurt you any further by taking you in an uncomfortable position for an extended amount of time. Norns, did he fantasize about taking you for an extended amount of time. But he wanted you to be yourself again. The celestial force that pulled him in. The warmth, the light that only you could shine.

So you both waited until you and your body were in shape. He knew it wouldn’t be forever. And by the time you would be ready, he knew exactly how to wound you up and make you blush. He would push your limits the only way he knew how and when he’s extracted the most beautiful pleasure out of your body, his hands would already know just how to make you a creature of comfort.

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